


Does the Pain Weigh Out the Pride? (You're in ruins)

by Petr1chor



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angsty Schmoop, Caring Stiles Stilinski, Derek Hale Needs Therapy, Derek Hale Needs a Hug, Derek Hale is Bad at Feelings, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Angst, Hurt Derek Hale, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Underage Sex, M/M, Protective Stiles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-10
Updated: 2018-04-10
Packaged: 2019-04-21 02:30:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,404
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14274972
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Petr1chor/pseuds/Petr1chor
Summary: "Enough with the eyebrows of doom, man, I just came to check up on you. Scott said you were bleeding but wouldn't let let Deaton check in you. You okay, man?""Fine" Derek bit out. It wasn't really a lie, his wounds had mostly closed up."You know I'm not just asking about the wounds, right?"There was blood in her blonde hair, he remembered with startling clarity."I'm okay, I'm okay" he said, softer and more unsure than he had intended.----AKA 5 times Derek refused comfort and 1 time he didn't.





	Does the Pain Weigh Out the Pride? (You're in ruins)

**Author's Note:**

> The title is from the song 21 Guns, by Green Day.  
> Un-beta'ed.

He was still shivering under the Sheriff's jacket when he and Laura were ushered into the station. Laura had pressed a shaky kiss to the crown of his head before she volunteered to get questioned first. The Sheriff led him to his office and motioned for him to go inside. He clutched at the lapels of the jacket, staring at his feet and had trudged inside.   
"Keep him company, huh, Stiles?", the Sheriff had said.

That was when he realised he wasn't alone in the room. Looking up, he faced a boy of about ten, with eyes that were so wide they took up a third of his face, his features twisted in an expression way too serious for a child.

"Are you okay?"  
He nodded, and shuddered.

"You don't look okay." He said.

Derek didn't trust himself to speak.

He hopped off the desk which he'd been perched on and sat down beside him on the bench. He nudged him with one small finger that reminded him painfully of Cora.

 _Your fault your fault your fault_  he chanted in his head, he could almost feel the singeing heat of the fire and hear the screaming. _Your fault your fault_

"Do you need a hug?" the kid asked, bluntly.

He shook his head, battling the stinging in his eyes.

"No"

"I'll just stay here then," the kid said, inching a little closer to him.

When the Sheriff led him out of the station, the kid with the Bambi eyes watched him from the door of the office, smiling just a little.

\---

He zipped up his leather jacket over his grey Henley. He remembered the day Laura took him shopping, and bought it for him. He remembered telling her that he wasn't an skater-punk and he didn't need a leather jacket. He'd loved it anyway, he loved the smell of it and the uneven texture and something about it that made him think inexplicably of Laura, of family, of _pack_.

Derek set off to the cemetary on foot, the Camaro reminded him too much of her, it had been hers, after all.

He had too much to do to plan a funeral, what with the rogue alpha on rampage. He'd never been one for inane functions, besides there wasn't anyone to come to the funeral of Laura Hale.

So he'd simply hired the Laheys for the grave digging and decided to go watch as one of the two people he had as family was put into the ground.

Derek fiddled with the zipper of his coat for something to do with his hands and he watched father and son lower his sister into the ground.

The wind was stinging his eyes, he told himself. His jaw hurt with the way was clenching it when he noticed the Sheriff's cruiser parked right outside with one Stiles Stilinski inside.

A bit of panic rose within him, wondering what had gone wrong now that this boy who seemed to follow trouble like an addiction was here.

He pushed away the thought.

 _Laura,_  he thought, _I'm here for Laura_

He stood there for nearly an hour, somewhere between sleep and wakefulness, not really there. He thought about the look on her face when she felt her pack bonds shatter and the mantle of alpha be placed upon her. He thought about New York, and the life they'd made for themselves. He thought about how she'd found him one night, fist pressed to his mouth so she couldn't hear the sobs in the next room, when she rocked him back and forth as he told her about Kate and her whispering _Not your fault, not your fault, baby boy_  and _I'm not leaving you anytime soon_  over and over until he fell into fitful sleep.

"You were wrong", he said out loud', "you were wrong that night and you were wrong when you said you'd be fine on one little trip to Beacon fucking Hills, you didn't need back up. You were wrong."

His voice was more shaky than he expected, and it seemed he was too distracted to notice the footsteps until they were right behind him.

"Hey"

He was too tired for this.

"What happened?", he couldn't help but let a little annoyance colour his voice.

"Uhh, nothing really, well nothing evil and on a rampage. I'm sure * _things_ * in general have happened. "

Derek let out a sigh. "Why are you here, Stiles?"

" Well, actually, uh, I'm here because it's your sister's funeral, okay, Derek? I know we don't really like each other, or _know_  each other, but someone you loved just got put in the ground. And, uh, I know a little about how that feels. "

Derek stared at him, with his eyes narrowed. He remembered Claudia Stilinski a little vaguely, she was a happy woman full of life.

He remembered the day she'd died and his aunt who worked with her cried and told Derek that sometimes good people have bad ends.

But he still didn't know what Stiles was doing here.

Stiles finally continued.  
"I, just didn't want you to have to go through this alone."

There was an open sincerity in his voice that made Derek's heart constrict a little, craving for comfort. That is why it took him some effort to say the next words.  
"Thank you, but I'm- I'm okay."

\---  
The aftermath of battle put bone deep exhaustion in a person. When the adrenaline fades and leaves you with the feeling of _what have I done?_.

Derek stood next to the charred remains of his home, deliberately avoiding looking at the charred remains of the last of his family a few feet away. It seem poetic, almost, and he let out a harsh mirthless laugh.

The teenagers, the _children_  who had thrown themselves into this message of his family's, had left slowly, one by one, until just Stiles remained.

He couldn't bring himself to ask why he was still there, the fear that of he offered him comfort he wouldn't be strong enough to deny it.

He didn't need to think about that, it was Stiles after all. Obviously, he startled talking without being prompted.

" He may have been an evil dick, but he was the last family you had. And it couldn't have been pleasant to watch him get _burned._  I'm sorry we had to do that. "

"It had to be done." He forced his voice to sound impassive.

"I know, I'm not denying that. That doesn't mean you have to be okay after that, though."

Derek stiffened. His back was turned to Stiles, so he couldn't see the widening of his eyes or small downturn of his mouth. _Nonono_. He forced his voice neutral again.

"Stiles. Leave."

"Wanting comfort isn't something to be ashamed of. "

"Leave. Now."

" _Derek_ "

Derek turned around shifting as he did, flashing his fangs and now alpha-red eyes, and roared, " ** _Now_** "

Stiles bristled at the sudden movement, but he didn't look afraid. His face showed fear and a little bit of pity. Smiling a joyless smile, he nodded curtly, turning around and trudging away.

Derek knew that not even Stiles human ears could miss the miserable howl that cut through the preserve moments after he'd gone.

\---

It was about 6am when Derek trudged up the stairs to the loft, filthy, exhausted with his clothes hanging off him in ragged shreds. That's why it came as a surprise to him to see the teenager, one with school starting in 2 hours at that, sitting on the floor, leaning against the metal door.

He decided he was too tired for this shit. He wordlessly glared at Stiles and unlocked the loft door, leaving it ajar and dumping himself gracelessly on the bed with a loud groan.

Derek didn't even know how Stiles had reached here before him, he had been at Deaton's when he had brought Cora and Boyd in.

Derek was hurting in about seventeen different places and he couldn't bother himself to ask why he was here, but he assumed his expression conveyed enough when Stiles said  
"Enough with the eyebrows of doom, man, I just came to check up on you. Scott said you were bleeding but wouldn't let let Deaton check in you. You okay, man?"

"Fine" Derek bit out. It wasn't really a lie, his wounds had mostly closed up.

"You know I'm not just asking about the wounds, right?"

There was blood in her blonde hair, he remembered with startling clarity.

"I'm okay, I'm okay" he said, softer and more unsure than he had intended.

"You sound an awful lot like you're trying to convince yourself," he said, his voice gentle and Derek hated it, he hated how this boy could worm his way under his skin when he had never given permission. He hated how Stiles knew when he needed comfort and he hated himself for not allowing himself the comfort.

"I'm okay," be repeated, harsher now, meant to drive people away, the way he had grown so adept at.

Stiles turned around to leave, but when he reached the door, he said, so soft that Derek wouldn't have heard it without his enhanced hearing,  
"As much as you deny it, I'm here for you, big guy."

\---  
 _I'm soaked_  
It comes to him as a detached realisation.

He's unable to drag his eyes away from his hands. The claws have retracted, leaving them looking deceptively harmless. * _They're not._ * They were still covered in blood. He could see it coagulating in the creases between his fingers and his palm.

He could feel a hand on his shoulder, strong fingers squeezing in what he supposed was meant to be a gesture of comfort.

He felt a wave of loss when the hand left his shoulder. Someone sat down in front of him.

He could see dark pants in his periphery and thought someone might be talking to him.

"-up, please"  
 _Stiles_. He knew that voice.  
"Derek", he could hear clearer now, "Derek, I need you to get up for me, okay?"

"It's not good for you to stay here. Please Derek, get up."

Derek had a hard time finding his voice.

"I can't"

"Yes, you can, Derek, come on now."  
He had his hand extended towards Derek.

"I can't leave him." He couldn't bring himself to care about how pitiful he sounded.

"They'll take care of him, I promise. You have to let someone take care of you, now."

When Stiles hand curled around his arm, tugging him up, he let himself be dragged to a standing position.

He felt an arm snake around his waist and a hand of his chest as Stiles got him up the spiral staircase to his bedroom.

He seated him on the edge of the bed.  
"I really hope you won't kill me in the morning for this," he says as he goes through his drawers, pulling out a pair of sweats, socks and a t-shirt.

"You can't stay in those soaking clothes, Derek, you need to shower and change, then you can rest, okay?"

"I can do that by myself, Stiles."

"I know you can, Mr.Big Bad Wolf," Stiles says, with affection open on his barely there smile, "But you don't have to."

He felt his breath catch, but he shook his head.

"Leave, Stiles," he said, with finality. Stiles just looked a little disapproving.   
"Please," he added, a little brokenly.

Stiles sighed and brought one hand into his shoulder, then moved it to cup the back of his neck and squeeze affectionately.

"I'll be downstairs if you need anything."

After Stiles left, Derek pushed himself up to the adjoining bathroom, mechanically stripping and and standing under the stream of scalding hot water. He scrubbed his hands together, watching the rusty water circle the drain and he felt the fight go out of him.

He leaned his head on the wall, and listened. He could hear Stiles right outside his bedroom door. He seemed to be talking on the phone.

" _-I know, Scotty, but someone needs to be here for him, and Isaac isn't exactly in a good place right now. You can't actually expect me to leave him here all alone after what just happened._ "

He didn't know when his claws had extended, but now the crusty blood on it ( _Oh god Boyd_ ) was mixing with his own as his claws sunk into his palms in a valiant but vain effort to keep himself from crying.

He curled up on the shower floor, feeling like a child as he bit his fist to muffle his soft crying.

An hour later, after the water had turned freezing, he dragged himself out, putting on the clothes Stiles had placed on his bed. When he dropped onto the bed, he passed out immediately.

He woke up the next morning with swollen eyes to the smell of pancakes. Downstairs, on the counter, he found a plate laden with enough pancakes to feed an army, still warm, and a note with Stiles messy script.

_Had to go change for school. Enjoy the pancakes. -Stiles_

Derek might have smiled just a little.

\---

He hated the smell of hospitals. The smell of antiseptic and medicine was overwhelming to a human, but to a werewolf, that paired with the smell of death and illness was near intolerable.

Cora looked pale ( _too pale, oh god_ ) and Derek's grip on her hand was unrelenting.

Derek willed away the internal monologue of self pity (family _, pack, all I have, don't leave me, I can't be alone, no, no, no)_  and focussed his senses for something to concentrate on, something to ground him before he drove himself to panic.

He could hear so many heartbeats, and snippets of random conversations. He could hear very loud crying, howling.

No matter what he tried though, he couldn't stop hearing the * _beep beep beep_ * of the heart monitor hooked to his baby sister.

In a rare show of emotion, he let his head drop to rest on the edge of the hospital bed, and let out a ragged breath, his sister's name on his lips.

 _Ofcourse_  he thought, as he heard familiar footsteps.

"Hey there, sourwolf," his generally loud voice was unusual soft, "how's she holding up?"

"She's gonna be okay" his voice was a little too raw and unsure and he hated that Stiles was here to hear it.

"She will," Stiles sounded a lot more sure than he did, his hand coming to rest on his shoulder. "She's a Hale, after all, big guy. She's resilient."

Derek gave a humourless laugh that sounded too close to a sob.

He cleared his throat.

"Don't you have a dark druid to catch?"

Stiles grip tightened.

Before he left he firmly said, "You're a good brother Derek"

Derek wondered when this boy had gotten under his skin so stealthily, knowing exactly what to say and making him feel like he was splayed open.

\---

Derek stood at the threshold of the loft, streetlights slanting in through the windows, and sighed loudly.

Absently, he wondered why he'd chosen the middle of the night to come back to Beacon  Hill.

 _Who are you hiding from, Derek?_  there was a mocking voice in his head, and it sounded far too much like Kate.

 _Suck it up, Hale_  he thought as he dragged himself into the loft.

They'd never bothered to clean up before taking off. There was a large dent in the wall. There was a stain of blood where Kali had impaled him, and another where Boyd had died ( _Where I killed him_ ).

The sheets Jennifer had been in were still ripped and thrown in a corner, because he'd refused to let his little sister ( _dying little sister_ ) lay on those same sheets.

He got about to cleaning the house, scouring it clean, scrubbing till his hands bled and stopping only long enough for it to heal.

He cleaned the loft until he got rid of everything that smelled like Jennifer, and everything that reminded him of Boyd and Isaac. _All my mistakes_

When he dragged himself to go sleep, it was on the floor. He'd completely exhausted himself, but he couldn't bear to sleep on that bed.

When he awoke the sunlight was spilling into the loft. He figured it must be near noon. Scratching his cheek, he went and turned on the coffee machine.

That's when he realised why he'd woken up so abruptly. Someone was packing right outside his door, a very familiar heartbeat that was beating too fast.

Sighing, he went and pulled the door open, starling a disheveled looking Stiles. His eyes were wide and his hair was sticking up in every direction.

He gasped at the sight of Derek as of he was something novel.

"Dad told me you came back."

"And?" he tried to keep his voice gentle, but he was tired and surrounded by bad memories.

"I came to see for myself."

Knowing he would follow him, he walked back in and poured two mugs of coffee. He knew Stiles liked his coffee black,so he simply asked, "Sugar?"

"Seriously?"

Stiles looked angry and Derek didn't feel like being on the recieving end of a lecture that day, but he rolled his eyes and asked anyway, "What?"

Stiles shook his head, "Nevermind. No sugar, thanks. Also, where's Cora?"

Derek stiffened unintentionally.

"Brazil," he replied curtly.

"Talk to me, man," Stiles seemed both concerned and exasperated in a way that grated on Derek's nerves.

"There's nothing to talk about."

Stiles looked angry, now.

"Oh really? _There's nothing to talk about_. How about the fact that you came back yesterday in between the freakin' night, your eyes are bloodshot and there's blood on your t-shirt?"

His voice was steadily rising, "You were supposed to _leave_ , Derek. You were supposed to leave the goddamned town and never come back" Derek flinched at that, bit Stiles didn't notice as he went on.

"Hasn't this town fucked you over enough yet? Is this some kind of sick penance? God, _Derek_ , why won't you just _talk_  to someone?"

"What the fuck do you want me to say, Stiles? That I had to kill the first girl I ever loved, or that my family burned down when I was _sixteen_ because of me. Or that she fucked me for her own gain?"

His hand caught against the mug on the counter, and he barely heard as it crashed into the floor.  
His breath was getting too fast, and there was a telltale lump in his throat.

"That the only family I had left was my sister and uncle, and my uncle _killed_  her, and I had to kill him? And then I fucked up a bunch of kids, was accesory to the resurrection of my psychotic uncle."

His voice that had been angry had now reduced to a shaking whisper.

"I couldn't protect my damn pack, one died under my watch, I _killed_  another, and the third left me for another alpha. Another crazy bitch decided to fuck me  for her benifit. And when I thought I'd caught a break, and I had my  little sister back, she told me she doesn't know me anymore, and fucking left."

The breath he let out was shuddering and loud.

"And I'm alone, _again_ "

The admission was suspended in the air, leaving him feeling a little like his chest had been cracked open.

Stiles was gaping at him, he obviously hadn't expected the outburst and looked shaken.

" _Fuck_ ", Derek whispered as he saw the mess on the floor and dropped to his knees, clumsily trying to gather up the ceramic shards.

Thin, limber fingers joined his shaking ones, neatly putting all of the pieces into a little pile and grabbing at Derek's hand before he could hurt himself.

Derek flinched at the hand in his before squeezing it, and realising with belated horror that his cheeks were wet.

"Oh, Derek", Stiles says softly before tugging him towards himself and wrapping both arms around him.

One of Derek's hands wrapped around Stiles, fisted painfully over  the back of Stiles flannel, the other over Stiles heart, trying to convince himself that this is real.

Stiles pressed closer bringing his hand to the nape of his neck and pressing kisses to the top of his head whispering * _you're not alone, you're loved, you're so loved, Der_ *.

Derek, for his part, allowed himself the comfort that was long overdue.  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Tell me what you think ☺️


End file.
